Toxic
by blackkitty95
Summary: There are times when, lost in thought, Grell bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. One of those times, Undertaker is with him.


_I finally got to write some Undergrell! Now I can't wait to cosplay Undertaker with a friend as my Grelly~_

 _English is not my native language, so there might be some mistakes. Of course I own nothing but my immense love for Kuroshitsuji._

 _Enjoy! Feedback is love xx_

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Grell tends to have an immaculate appearance; brushing his long red hair until it shines like precious rubies, putting on makeup, wearing false eyelashes in order to make his inhumanly bright eyes pop even more. There are few times when there are imperfections, and most of the times it is because he has been through a rough battle.

Some times, however, it happens when he is too distraught and lost in thought. Like tonight.

"Have you ever thought about leaving the Dispatch?" Undertaker asks and takes a sip of his sweetened tea.

They are currently in his shop, just two Grim Reapers enjoying their tea and bone-shaped biscuits in a funeral parlour long past the hour of the witch.

"Where did that come from?"

Undertaker chuckles. He has removed his hat and his bangs are not covering half of his face like they usually do, allowing Grell to drown in his inhumanly bright eyes. All shinigami eyes are like that, but for some reason Undertaker's bright emerald orbs bewitch him like no one else's can. Maybe it is because they used to be hidden, a mystery uncovered by Grell's own hands when he pushed those soft silver bangs back that first time. Maybe it is because Undertaker still refuses to show his magnetizing eyes to the world and only reveals them when he is spending time with Grell, his gaze always focused on him, never judging, never criticizing, fond and intrigued.

"Because you're different, my dear," he explains. "You're like an exotic bird, not made to be kept in a cage. Do you really want to live your life by their rules? Aren't you tired of all that paperwork? Aren't you sick of the bureaucracy?"

Grell tries to suppress a blush that threatens to surface on his feminine face at Undertaker's characterization of him. Truth be told, all that paperwork is boring and exhausting. Reaping souls is something that he is particularly good at and revels in, but most deaths are anything but exciting or interesting, and filling out reports drains him. He tried to spice things up once but ended up on suspension, his beloved scythe taken away from him, having to use stupid tiny scissors instead.

However, he hasn't even once actually considered leaving. Despite everything, being part of the Grim Reaper Dispatch gives him a purpose and a sense of security. He has things to do, duties to fulfill. What would he do if he retired one day like the Undertaker? Where would he go? Who would he be?

"Oh, love, you're bleeding."

The legendary shinigami's words bring the red reaper back to reality. Deep in thought, he has unconsciously bitten his lower lip, his sharp teeth breaking the skin.

"Oh dear!" he exclaims. "How unsightly! So improper of a lady!"

He reaches for a handkerchief to dab at the wound, but Undertaker stops him with a hand on his bony wrist. As silent as a snake, he has slipped from his seat and dropped on one knee before Grell without the red-haired shinigami noticing.

Before Grell can utter a word, Undertaker's tongue is out, lapping at the oozing blood. Grell feels a shiver down his spine, his breath hitching in his throat. Undertaker keeps licking until his mouth closes over the wound on Grell's bottom lip, gently sucking.

"There, all cleaned up," Undertaker says with a grin when he pulls back. "You are delicious, my dear."

Flustered, definitely blushing this time, Grell assumes his usual flirtatious attitude in an attempt to hide how much he enjoyed this and how badly he craves for more. "I bet you say that to all the girls," he teases, playfully slapping the silver-haired handsome man on the chest.

"You're the only girl for me, love."

Their mouths clash together and their passion could burn them. The kiss is sweet and violent at the same time, and it makes Grell feel alive. He bites on Undertaker's tongue with his shark-like teeth even though he was careful not to hurt the legendary reaper at first. Their blood mingles, coating their tongues, filling their mouths.

Their tea and the biscuits are forgotten as the two supernatural beings spend the rest of the night exploring each other. Grell leaves his mark on Undertaker, sucking at his pale, scarred skin, nipping, biting. Undertaker returns the favour, drawing bloody patterns on the younger one's flesh with his long black nails. Both of them will have healed by the morning, but for the time being they revel in marking one another as their own and being branded as each other's.


End file.
